"Who the deuce is he? and where have I seen him? and what does he want here?" said Scarlett to himself, continuing to play the tune which had evoked the apparition. "He doesn't look as if he went round for Easter offerings. Can't want to tune the piano, or why didn't he begin before I came in? Hope he isn't an escaped lunatic--there's something queer and fixed about his eyes; perhaps I had better soothe him with a softer strain. By Jove! I _have_ seen him somewhere, and uncommonly good-looking he is, too! How can I have forgotten him? He isn't the sort of man to forget. He doesn't look quite modern, somehow, with his full, dark hair, and his beardless face; or, rather, I _feel_ as if he were not quite modern--but why?" Adrian glided into the accompaniment to an old song, and sang a quaint verse or two softly to himself. The face in the mirror relaxed a little. After a moment the man straightened himself, drew back, and vanished. Adrian finished his song, and then, in the silence that ensued, a slight movement was audible, enough to warrant his entering the further room, as if he had just suspected the presence of a visitor. The man of the mirror was sitting in an arm-chair, with a book in his hand. He looked up a little hesitatingly and awkwardly, as if he were doubtful whether to rise or not. Adrian hastened to apologise for his musical performance. "I had no idea there was any one here," he said. "I hope I didn't disturb you?" "Not at all," said the stranger, glancing at the book he held, and furtively reversing it. "An enviable talent," he added, with an evident effort. "For oneself, perhaps," answered Scarlett. "But I'm not sure it is desirable in a next-door neighbour." He was still trying to identify his companion. The voice, unmusical and almost harsh, did not help him in the least, and, oddly enough, now that they were actually face to face, he was less absolutely certain that he ought to recognise the man. "It may be only a likeness to somebody I know," he reflected. "But to whom, then? And why does he look at me like that? _He_ seems to think he knows _me_!" "I hope you'll go on if you feel inclined," said the stranger. Adrian shook his head. "Thank you, but I think I've made about noise enough for one morning." He took up the paper and skimmed a column or two. Presently he looked from behind it, and their eyes met. "I can't help thinking," he said, "that we have met before somewhere, haven't we? I don't know where, but I have an idea that your memory is better than mine." The other was obviously taken by surprise. "No," he said, drawing back and frowning. "No--in fact I'm sure we haven't met--at least not to my knowledge. My name is Harding."